


Baby's In Black

by TokyoDAZE



Category: The Beatles
Genre: 1962, Angst, Death, F/M, Hamburg Era, Pregnancy, i crai evertim, sad stuff, sorry astrid i promise ill make you less miserable in the next fic, stu will actually be alive and stuff and itll be nice, thats just the only two prominent characters in the first chapter afbrjkghkrgw, there will be more later i promise lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokyoDAZE/pseuds/TokyoDAZE
Summary: When Stuart Sutcliffe dies in 1962, it seems that he would be without an heir to carry on his legacy. Then Astrid starts experiencing strange symptoms, and perhaps there is hope after all...





	

_He's gone._

     Astrid stared out into the sky—grey, with hazy clouds cascading into the horizon, hidden away behind trees and apartment buildings.

     May 10th and Stuart had been dead for exactly one month. Astrid never thought she could ever, ever be so _miserable_ , ever in her life. He had been such a beautiful man with such extraordinary, raw _talent_ oozing out from underneath his stained fingernails. A star pupil, one to be proud of, always working on one thing or another. After he finished college, it seemed she would have married him and then they could create art together and everything would be _perfect_.

     Then the headaches came. He screamed and cried, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. The doctor came to the house every day and inject him with medicine which never seemed to do anything. He was in such agony, even then still creating and scrawling at long letters detailing pain and madness and days without rest. Suffering, shrieking, he would claw at the attic windowpane, begging her to let him _jump_.

 _Finally_ , the day came for God to put him to sleep. Life ebbing away as the ambulance rattled around them, she held him in her arms, trembling violently as he stilled, chapped lips slightly parted, never to breath again. Never to paint again. Never to love again.

     Everyone felt the worst for Astrid. Mother became very protective of her, the boys and Klaus as well. She never went outside alone—somebody was always escorting her to the Reeperbahn and back. They kept the teds off her back, kept her safe, made sure she ate properly and didn’t drink too much out of sheer grief. And it comforted her that they at the very least cared, but she knew she would never feel truly happy again.

     These days especially she felt increasingly terrible, often nauseous and with headaches and awful feelings, hungry and yet not hungry at the same time. It took all her strength to leave her bed, her empty and lonely bed, and to walk downstairs knowing Stuart won’t be there to make her morning well. Her birthday was just around the corner, but what was there to celebrate? 24 years old and she would have nothing to show for it. No birthday kiss from her darling.

     The day before, Astrid was forced to cancel work after a rather violent onset of cramps and pains kept her hunched over on the bathroom floor, gritting her teeth and wondering _what_ _was_ _going_ _on_. Today she was curled up on her bed, tangled in sheets and feeling no better, and she wondered if whatever had struck Stuart had managed to reach her as well. A small part of her hoped so, because she did want to be with him again so badly, even if it meant death for her. But it wasn’t realistic, and God would never grant her a mercy killing like that. So it had to be something else. It had to be the grief—awful, miserable grief that make her sick to the bone. But if that was the case, why was it getting worse with passing time?

     It eventually reached the point that her mother was becoming frantic out of concern for her, pushing her to visit the doctor’s office in case it was something serious, and Astrid would always insist it was only a stomach bug or maybe a virus and that she would be _fine_ , which was a lie, but she didn’t want to go to the doctor’s to list symptoms that were nothing more than the result of mourning and shock.

     “It’s not fair… It’s… really… not… fair…” More days passed by and recently Klaus couldn't supervise her because of a graphic assignment from his workplace, so she went to the Reeperbah alone. Astrid found herself sobbing into the cold surface of a table in the Star Club where the Beatles were playing. She would have never thought she’d ever drink until she was too drunk to save, but then again she would have never thought the love of her life would die within two years of meeting him for the first time. So she drank and drank until the Beatles onstage were nothing more than a hazy blur, and she went home feeling worse than she did when she left and last night she had thrown up some time after coming back, and she felt so miserable and sick and yet couldn’t stop herself, and soon with every gulp of liquor that trickled down her throat, she felt as if she was killing something inside herself. There was something very, very wrong here.

     Her birthday arrived and she tried, tried so hard to feel happiness again, and when the Beatles sang to her with riotous passion, she almost felt as if maybe it was within reach. They presented her with the most wonderful gifts, and her trembling hands accepted them with a small nod. Really though, she didn’t feel right.

     “It’s… _wrong_ , Georgie.” She sighed to the boy, who had sat down next to her as soon as the breaks allowed. “I can’t be happy. I _shouldn’t_ be happy. He is not here with me.”

     He blinked slowly at her, briefly glancing at the pileup of beer glasses on the table next to the presents they had given her. “I know, Asser, it’s really hard. We miss ‘im, too, y’know. John especially, ‘e’s been jus’ awful.”

     “What am I going to do?”

     George paused, looking at her intensely with dark moony eyes. “See a doctor, first of all. Ya look like yer’ about ta crumble into lil’ itty-bitty bits.”

     “I feel like it, too.”

     “What’s wrong? Are ya ill? Have ya seen a doctor?”

     “No. Everybody wants me to go, but it is no big deal.”

     The guitarist cocked an eyebrow. “Ya can’t blow it off like t’at, Asser. I’ll arrange a visit meself if ah ‘ave ta. It’s yer birthday, dear, ya can’t be sick and not do anythin’ about it.”

     “Please, Georgie. I just… I’m just… a little sick. Flu, maybe. I’m fine.”

     “All this drinkin’ ain’t gonna bring ‘im back, y’know. Yer’ makin’ it worse.”

     Astrid felt tears fighting to the surface. She rubbed at her eyes—George was right, damn right, but she didn’t want to face it. She wanted to run away until she couldn’t hold herself up… collapse somewhere on a dock far away from the Reeperbahn and pass out.

     “Don’t cry. T’at sounded meaner than I meant, I’m sorry. It’s jus’ John’s been doin’ the same thing, and I already said ‘e’s bloody miserable an’ I think I’ll start drinkin’ meself if I see _you_ doin’ th’ same thing. I don’t think you’d be able t’ take it.”

     “What else am I supposed to do?” The photographer almost snapped back at him. “I can’t live like this. I m-miss him too much… I… I just… I _can’t_ …” And before she could say it, a fit of sobs finished for her, forcing her head into her sleeves to hide the tears, and her entire body shook violently with each fleeting breath. She could barely feel the ted gently caress her back.

     “I’ll say it again, Asser, don’t cry. I’ll take ya home. Tomorrow, you see a doctor. This’s obviously more than jus’ _grief_ , and I’m not gonna stand ‘ere an’ watch ye melt. Promise you’ll get it checked?”

     She only managed a nod before George stood her up on both feet and supported her as she staggered outside into the street with the presents in hand, still with tears streaming down her face. The walk home was blurry and later she would only feel guilty about her darling Georgie-maus having to deal with her drunkenness the entire time, probably returning late for the next gig and having the others yell at him about it.

     Some time after returning home, Astrid threw up again, feelings of disgust and regret swirling around in her abdomen. Mother again became frantic when she found out and once more insisted on getting her symptoms checked. This time, Astrid, with George’s words in mind, couldn’t turn her down. She would see the family doctor the very next morning.

     In the meantime, Astrid was again curled up in bed, weeping silently to herself. She couldn’t possibly imagine a worse birthday than the one she just had—drunk, miserable, grieving for a lost love, and possibly ill beyond control. Tomorrow would present even more difficulties, with the appointment and such and she would probably have to cancel work again. She was surprised at this point that she hadn’t been fired yet, from all the days she’s missed. She could only imagine being scolded by her boss the next time she managed to make it, and the thought, amongst countless others, made her even sicklier so she chased it away and buried her face in the pillow. No doubt the remainder of the night would be spent sleepless.


End file.
